Judged by the Cover
by VoldemortsLeftNipple
Summary: Enjolras is not often wrong, even when it comes to judging people by their outside appearance. But what about the scruffy young artist he's, quite literally, bumped into on the sidewalk? Could he be right about him too, or is there a lot more to the man? (Rated T, for now. I will probably change that later). Modern AU.
1. In which Pretty Boy meets a New Face

**AN: Heeey there fandom and fellow e/r shippers. It's 4 am and this is chapter one and it's short and I hope you like it please don't hurt me, thanks. I've never written a Les Mis fic before, even though I have a million plots in my notebook. Anyway yeah have fun.**

Enjolras' shoulder collided with the stranger's, or rather, as Enjolras would think, the stranger's collided with his, on a dull Tuesday afternoon outside an even duller cafe.

"Ah, fuck," the Stranger gruffed as, what Enjolras presumed to be a sketchbook, fell to the ground, "Could you watch where you're going, possibly?"

In that quite infuriating moment, Enjolras' temper flared, "You're the one who ran into me."

"Let's just agree," the Stranger began with a smirk, while bending down to gather his things, "To disagree, and get some coffee?"

Enjolras, who was clearly taken aback at the sudden flirting, shakes his head, "I'm going to be late for-"

"And you knocked my sketchbook into a puddle, I think your lateness to whatever and a coffee will make up for that."

"Fine," Enjolras rolled his eyes, "I'll buy you a coffee."

"Great. I'm Grantaire, by the way." Grantaire grinned a cocky sort of grin as they walked into the cafe.

"Enjolras."

"Fancy."

"Sure," Enjolras smirked, "Pick your coffee quickly, before you make me even later."

"Just a black coffee will do, thank you."

Enjolras frowned at the thought of black coffee, but ordered it for the stranger anyway, then ordered his own sugary concoction (that Grantaire frowned at himself).

Once seated, Grantaire sipped his coffee with a smile, "So, _Enjolras_," he dragged the name in a way that sent the tiniest shiver down Enjolras' spine, "What exactly are you going to be late for?"

"_Already late_," he scowled, "I am _already_ late for an important meeting."

"Well if it makes you feel any better-"

"It doesn't."

"Right, well, as I began, if it makes you feel any better, I'm late for my rehearsal."

_'A rehearsal,'_ Enjolras scoffed at the very word,_ 'Probably for some indie hipster thing in the garage of his friend's parents.'_

"Oh, well I'm sure your friends are dying without you at your rehearsal." Enjolras' eyes rolled again as he looked over Grantaire's appearance. Messy. Messy summed it up well. His jeans were ripped and his t-shirt faded. Atop his curly mess of dark hair sat an obnoxious red beanie and he, God for shame, was wearing sandals _with socks._

"Hey, I'm a very important member of my group and my friends probably are dying, actually," Grantaire's eyes drifted to the- good God- Captain America watch on his wrist, "I'm literally half an hour late."

"Twenty minutes. I'm twenty minutes late."

"Well, Enjolras," he didn't drag his name this time, but it still sent something through Enjolras' veins, "I think we'd both do well by getting off. But I'd love for you to see my performance on Thursday."

"Oh really," Enjolras smirked, thinking of the high school dropout, ratty garage-band he was probably a part of, "Well maybe I'll come and see you perform."

Grantaire smiled, pulled a pen from the loop of his sketchbook and proceeded to scribble an address on a napkin. Once finished, he stood up quickly with coffee in hand and slid the napkin toward Enjolras, "Thursday night at 8 o'clock, don't be late, Pretty Boy."

And with that, he left and Enjolras sat at the table looking quite miffed.

_'Pretty Boy,' _what started as a scowl quickly turned into a grin, _'Maybe I won't be late'. _

**AN: Haha, did you have fun? No? Okay. R&R Please!**


	2. In which Dislike runs Dry

**AN: Hi! Chapter two is a little longer, and I hope y'all enjoy it. **

"So what do you suppose one should wear to this kind of music event?" Enjolras thumbed around his closet as he asked this, pulling things out, examining them, and then putting them back with a frustrated sigh.

"Well," Combeferre glanced up from his book to look at his friend, "You said the guy didn't actually tell you what kind of event it is, so I'd try to dress in between casual and-"

"Dude just wear whatever," Courfeyrac interrupted from the doorway, "I mean really man he's probably part of some band that plays in small bars or something."

"Yeah but he doesn't actually know that." Combeferre frowned slightly.

"He's probably right though," Enjolras snorted, "I'll just pick out something casual."

And so, that's what Enjolras did that Thursday night at 7:00 pm. He wore a pristine white t-shirt underneath a cherry red and black flannel button down. With this he wore his one pair of dark jeans with a hole in the knee, and converse.

"There," he said to the mirror as he combed a rogue piece of blonde hair in its place, "Not fancy, just casual."

The estranged beating of Enjolras' heart bothered him a great deal for the entire duration of his ride to the destination Grantaire had scribbled down for him. He twiddled his fingers and fidgeted about in the backseat of the taxicab he was traveling in.

_'Enjolras,'_ he could still hear the newly met Grantaire dragging out his name in the back of his mind, _'Enjolras. Fancy'_.

Soon, the cab driver pulled up in front of the address and shook Enjolras of his thoughts. He nodded thanks to the driver and handed him his money before stepping out of the cab and looking up at something he didn't quite believe.

Before him stood a grand building called_ Chant des Rossignols Studio de Musique_. Enjolras shook his head and walked inside of the building, thinking maybe Grantaire's band just couldn't find any other place to rent out.

However, upon entering the lobby of the building, Enjolras felt his cheeks start to warm. All around him stood people all dressed in their best wear. Ladies in dresses and Gentlemen in ties and suits all laughed and talked about this and that as Enjolras stood in the doorway, red faced and underdressed.

Soon enough, people started to notice his presence in the room and look at him with confused or irritated expressions. And if that wasn't enough to add to his embarrassment, a familiar voice called out from just ahead in the crowd of well dressed people.

"Well look at that! Apollo the Pretty Boy made it on time," Grantaire (who was also dressed in his finest) grinned and clapped Enjolras on the back, "But I must say man, you're a little underdressed for the occasion."

Enjolras closed his eyes a minute, breathing in and out slowly as to refrain from punching the curly headed man beside him, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Grantaire's grin only grew.

"That this was a black tie event. Why didn't you tell me I was suppose to dress up?"

"Oh. I don't know. I just assumed you'd figure that out yourself."

"You bump into me on a Tuesday afternoon, with charcoal stained hands clutching a sketchbook, dressed in a ratty t-shirt and old jeans, not to mention socks with sandals, invite me to your music performance and expect me to assume that it's an event in which you wear your best fucking suit?"

"Well I can see how that would throw you off a little."

"A little," every word that came from Grantaire's lips made Enjolras' temper flare higher, "A fucking little."

Grantaire laughed and Enjolras opened his eyes at the rich sound. He looked at the man before him and shook his head, then began to turn toward the front doors.

"Wait," Grantaire said in between spouts of laughter, taking hold of Enjolras' shoulder, "C'mon, I'm sorry. I assumed all you owned in your closet was dressy stuff man. Look, just ignore all the prigs and I'll help you find a place to sit in the auditorium. I really do think you'll like the performance."

Enjolras sighed and turned back to Grantaire, "Fine."

Grantaire led Enjolras out of the lobby and down a few high arched hallways, telling him about his music on the way.

"I mean, I'm generally more of a painter and all that, but music like this sort of lets something different inside me go. Painting relaxes and calms my head, music calms my soul."

Enjolras, though still fairly irritated, listened to the man speak until he'd brought him into the aforementioned spacious auditorium. Grantaire found Enjolras a spot to sit in one of the middle rows, off to the side.

"I've got to go," Grantaire smiled, "We're starting in less than five minutes. I'm sorry about not telling you to dress up, really. Well, I'll see you in a few hours or so, Apollo."

With that, Grantaire left Enjolras behind, and Enjolras couldn't help but admire the vision of the figure walking away. He could, evidently, admit that the man was attractive in a strange sort of way. But that was all he could really like. Grantaire was still annoying, and rude. Enjolras didn't like the way Grantaire roped him into buying a coffee he didn't even finish. He didn't like his attitude. And he especially didn't like being called Apollo the Pretty Boy.

It wasn't until the lights grew dim, the chatter of the awaiting audience ceased, and the heavy scarlet curtain above the stage swung open that Enjolras' list of things he didn't like grew insignificant.

Grantaire cradling a beautiful polished cello in his arms was the first thing Enjolras saw. The other couple of musicians on the stage didn't catch his eye, only Grantaire did. And before Enjolras could become restless, the music began.

For a consuming moment, it was as if the only thing Enjolras could hear was the soft, concentrated cello Grantaire held. Grantaire's instrument seemed to drown out the other musicians to Enjolras. He watched the way Grantaire played, and he watched it awe.

Grantaire's eyes were closed, and a small, satisfied smile played upon his lips as he played. His arms moved with grace that Enjolras assumed Grantaire would never have. The annoying attitude, stupid nicknames and gaudy casual fashion sense that Enjolras met only a few days before melted right before his eyes. The cover he'd assumed to be faded and faded until Enjolras couldn't place a single judgment on the man on stage.

Eventually, the song was over and Enjolras' fleeting moment of Grantaire ended. The musicians took their bows and walked off the stage, not to return to their spot for the rest of the night. Enjolras sat through the rest of the performances unimpressed and indifferent.

All he wanted was to hear Grantaire play his cello again.

**AN: Annd until next time then! R&R Please and thank you!**


	3. Cello There, Babe

As beautiful as Grantaire's playing was to Enjolras, he was out the auditorium doors before the curtains had even closed.

"I look ridiculous," Enjolras muttered to himself, speeding through the hallways, "I need to get out of here before I make an even bigger fool of myself in these damn clothes."

"Hey, Enjolras, wait," Grantaire rounded the corner, quickly catching up to the man ahead of him, "What're you leaving so quickly for? I just barely saw you leaving."

"I need to go home and change clothes. I look ridiculous."

Grantaire let out a laugh that filled the whole hallway, "You don't look that bad. C'mon, lets go get a coffee."

"Only if you're paying for it." Enjolras let a small smile form upon his face.

"Oh, _of course I will_."

Grantaire led Enjolras through the winding hallways once more, with small smiles playing upon both their faces until they reached the front doors.

"Well, shit," Enjolras' smile quickly turned into a scowl, "It's raining. I didn't bring an umbrella."

"It's just a little rain."

"A little rain? _It's literally pouring outside_."

"Oh so what. The cafe isn't far from here. Just down the street. A little rain won't hurt, Pretty Boy."

"Grantaire, I'm not walking to a cafe in the pouring rain. It's cold and wet and I just want to change clothes. Besides, we could just get a cab or-"

Enjolras stopped mid sentence only to realize that Grantaire had already walked out the front door, straight into the rain. Shortly after that realization, Enjolras also noted how Grantaire's clothing was sticking to every inch of his body. Frustrated, he turned around and crossed his arms.

"I'm not going out there."

The doors opened behind him, "Aw, c'mon Enjolras don't be a pussy. Get a little wet."

"No."

As the word left Enjolras' mouth, he felt Grantaire's strong, and very wet, arms wrap around him in a tight, and slightly uncomfortable embrace.

"C'mon man," Grantaire laughed, "No one likes a pussy, least of all me. Just get in the rain."

"If I go out in the goddamned rain, will you let go of me?"

"As you wish," Grantaire stepped back, "Now lets go and get some coffee."

The rain didn't let up, and Grantaire's clothes didn't loosen from his skin. Pristine white sleeves stuck to his arms under a soaking wet vest. His dress pants were now clinging tightly to his legs. Enjolras' eyes did their best not to wander too much.

Grantaire's did not. In fact, it seemed that Enjolras was completely oblivious to Grantaire's eyes scanning him up and down. From the drops sliding from his golden curls, to the white t-shirt sticking to his chest and all the way down his legs- and not to mention his behind.

"This is it," Grantaire grinned, shaking his head at something particularly funny Enjolras had said, "The Cafe du Pain."

"What," Enjolras looked up, "What kind of cafe-"

"It's actually a normal cafe. I don't really get the name either, but the owner is sort of cool."

Enjolras, who was still quite puzzled, and Grantaire walked into the aforementioned cafe. It was small, and quaint and did not live up to its title. The walls were covered in paintings of different things, all seemed to have been done by different people. Round tables were placed neatly around the room, and soft music played over the speakers.

"I like the paintings." Enjolras mused as they made their way to the front counter together.

Grantaire smiled, "I painted the one over there," he pointed to a painting of a city skyline that stretched around the corner behind one of the small tables, "It's a painting of the view I had from the apartment I rented in Paris three years ago. The apartment was small, and wasn't much but the view from the window in the living room was so magnificent that I decided to bring it here."

"Grantaire is a regular painter in here," the woman behind the counter spoke up with a grin, "Now, what can I get for you and your friend?"

"I'll just have the usual black coffee, and my friend here-"

"Will have a soy milk latte."

"With about 600 sugar packets added in." Grantaire smirked.

"That is a gross exaggeration," Enjolras rolled his eyes, "And at least I don't drink black coffee. It's so bitter."

"It's even better with whiskey."

Enjolras almost gagged, "That is horrible abuse of coffee."

"One black coffee and a sugary soy latte for the lovely couple," Amelia slid the drinks toward them while they continued to argue, "And since I think you're both just too cute, both drinks are free."

Enjolras blushed and rolled his eyes while Grantaire laughed and took hold of both their drinks, walking off to the table beneath his painting.

The painting was even more beautiful when Enjolras sat down next to it. Pinks and yellows and oranges all running together in an impossibly glorious sky hung above the streets of Paris. The Eiffel Tower stood tall and proud in paint, as did the rest of the scene. A big black R was signed near the bottom of the mural.

"So how'd you like it?"

Enjolras reluctantly removed his gaze from the painting for a second time, "Like what?"

"The performance. Y'know, the whole reason we're here tonight."

"Oh. I liked it, it was nice."

Grantaire's smile faltered for the briefest moment, "Well, I'm glad you liked it. Sorry for not telling you about the dressing up part."

"Don't worry about it. I just. I assumed..."

"Assumed I was in some grungy barside band. Yeah, I know." Grantaire laughed.

As the cellist's laugh filled the air around Enjolras' ears, the world seemed to settle. Not in what Enjolras, or anyone, really, would call the perfect position. It settled into a position that was quite less than perfect, and a little awkward (with a dash of pure oddity). It didn't feel in order, and yet it did. It felt so out of order that it was in order and Enjolras found himself enjoying the beautiful chaos a very lot.

"Ehem, boys," Amelia appeared beside their table with a hand on her hip, "Have you any idea what time it is?"

Grantaire and Enjolras had actually not known what time it was until that moment.

"Oh. 1:23 am," Grantaire chuckled while looking at his watch (the same Captain America watch from that Tuesday), "I swear it was 10:23 like, three hours ago."

"Yeah," Amelia rolled her eyes and dropped a set of keys on their table, "We closed an hour ago but I didn't want to interrupt y'all. But I'm tired and would like to go home. Do me a favor and lock up when you leave."

With that, the barista (and apparently cafe owner) turned and left the two alone.

"Do you work here?" Enjolras asked.

"No," Grantaire smirked, "I'm just special."

"Oh, yes you are."

Neither of the men were very sure how many hours they'd spent in the Cafe du Pain, but neither of them really seemed to care, either. They talked about everything. Enjolras, and his university. They talked about Enjolras' friends and their "movements".

"We protest, alot. We hold ralleys about the unfairness of our university, and many like it."

"Lame," Grantaire snorted, "And it's not like that's going to help."

"You don't know that. And it's not lame."

They also talked about Grantaire, and the art school he attended.

"I don't really make an effort to be on time or anything. I mostly go because I figured it'd be less excruciating than a regular college."

They argued, and they laughed and they even sang. Enjolras took interest in the artwork and the music Grantaire talked about, but made sure to keep that interest reserved and secret. While Grantaire took secret interest in the passion Enjolras had for the fairness and equality of students he spoke of.

It was around three in the morning when Enjolras had decided he cared about getting home. Grantaire agreed on the lateness, and hailed down a cab for him.

"Oh hey, wait," Grantaire held the cab door so Enjolras couldn't close it, "Here, take this."

Enjolras took the napkin the man's hand, gave him a nod, and shut the door. As the cab driver sped away, he looked at the wobbly numbers scratched into the napkin, and decided there was a very fair chance he might call it the next coming day.

**AN: Heeeyyyy friends. Yeah. I took forever to update and I apologize. I'll be out of school for the Summer on the 14th, though. Lots of writing time! I want to apologize for the short chapters. I promise they'll start getting long soon! I'll try to have the next chapter up next week ! I hope you're enjoying this and it's not dumb and cheesy. Haha. Reviews are welcomed and loved!**


	4. The Dearness of Snow Globes

Enjolras was rudely awoken the next morning with a phone call. With a tired groan, he threw the blanket from his body and swung his legs off the side of his bed.

"Hello?" he asked, irritated.

"Enjolras," Combeferre began on the other line, "We're still going down to the museum for the day, right?"

The disoriented blonde looked to the clock on his bedside table. It was half past nine and Enjolras had unfortunately slept through his alarm.

"Uh, yeah. I just woke up. Head up to my place, I'll be ready in 20 minutes."

"Courfeyrac is coming, too."

"Even though it's a lame day trip!" Enjolras could hear Courfeyrac shout on the other end.

"Right, well-"

"Oh and Joly is meeting us there." Combeferre added.

"Okay. See you in a bit."

Enjolras' eyes landed upon a certain crumpled napkin on his night stand when he went to set his phone down. He eyed it for a few minutes before shaking his head and opening his phone once more and copying the number into his contacts.

He set his phone back down then, getting up to take a shower. However, he did not get to the bathroom door. Instead, he turned around and picked his phone back up. Grantaire's name glowed brightly on the contacts screen.

_'It couldn't hurt to say hello, could it?'_

He decided, in the end, that no, it would not hurt to say hello.

[**Enjolras**: Are you awake?]

Enjolras sighed, '_He doesn't even know my number yet, dammit'._

[**Enjolras**: Sorry, that last message probably seemed weird. This is Enjolras.]

With that, Enjolras decided that was enough awkward bravery for the morning and proceeded to ready himself for the day.

"Why'd you wake up so late this morning, man?" Courfeyrac questioned Enjolras eagerly while the blonde climbed into the front passenger seat of Combeferre's car.

Enjolras did not answer, but instead pulled his buzzing phone from his pocket.

[**Grantaire**: Hi. I was awake, and working. Still am, but whatever.]

[**Enjolras**: You have an actual job.]

"Who're you texting? And how'd that thing go last night? With the music guy?" Courfeyrac pressed on from the back seat.

"Why do you ask so many damn questions?" Enjolras glanced back at his friend.

"You sound particularly grumpy this morning," Combeferre said, "And how did the music performance go last night?"

"It was fine."

"Just fine. Right," Courfeyrac laughed and stuck his head between the front seats, "Then why are you so tired, huh? Stay out too late with the angsty grunge band member?"

"No," Enjolras frowned, "And he's not a member of a band. Technically."

"What kind of group is he in then?" Combeferre asked,

"He plays the cello with a classical music group."

"He does what," Courfeyrac laughed, "So what? You were wrong then? Oh my god, I bet you showed up underdress-"

"Shut up, Courf."

Enjolras' phone buzzed again.

[**Grantaire**: Yes, Blondie. I have an actual legitimate job. Surprise.]

[**Enjolras**: That's a new one.]

"Is that him? The cello guy? _Are you texting the cello guy?_" Courfeyrac grinned a mischievous sort of grin.

"Yes, Courfeyrac. I have a headache. Please, please be quiet for at least ten minutes."

His friend just laughed, "You're texting the cello guy!"

Enjolras rolled his eyes and directed his attention back to his phone.

[**Grantaire**: A new what?]

[**Enjolras**: A new nickname. You've called me Apollo, pretty boy and now you've called me blondie. Please stop this habit you've picked up.]

[**Grantaire**: How about no.]

[**Enjolras**: You're impossible.]

[**Grantaire**: Yeah, I am. But you texted me this morning anyway.]

"We're here," Combeferre smiled at the building before them, "I love history museums."

"You are seriously lame, dude." Courfeyrac said as he climbed out of the vehicle.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac divulge into a sort of micro argument that Enjolras is only vaguely aware of.

[**Enjolras**: Whatever. How's the job?]

[**Grantaire**: My job is lame. And boring. How's your morning?]

[**Enjolras**: I'm at a museum.]

[**Grantaire**: I've had my share of museums for a lifetime. Are you telling me you're at a museum alone on a Friday morning?]

[**Enjolras**: No. I'm with other people.]

"Enjolras, Courfeyrac keeps saying you were out late with a stranger and a cello," Joly, whose arrival had gone unnoticed by Enjolras, inquired with a worried frown, "He also said you had unprotected sex and I'm quite frankly worried as to why you are not talking or denying Courf's story."

"Wait, what?" Enjolras looked up from his cell phone.

"It's not true," Combeferre sighed as he opened the museum doors for his friends, "Well, the unprotected sex part isn't, anyway."

"Well, good. Because there are seriously hundreds of health risks from unprotected sex, _especially_ with a stranger you've never even met before-"

"Joly. We know." Combeferre said.

"Can we go to the gift shop?" Courfeyrac groaned the question, clearly bored already.

"Dude, c'mon just try and have fun. We'll go to the gift shop last." Combeferre took hold of his unimpressed friend and began to promptly drag him forward.

Enjolras shook his head, followed his friends and pulled out his phone again.

[**Grantaire**: Mm, well. These people are annoying and I hate my job.]

[**Enjolras**: I think you'll be okay.]

[**Grantaire**: I might not. I might pass out and die from all the idiocy in the air.]

[**Enjolras**: I'll send paramedics your way.]

[**Grantaire**: My hero.]

* * *

Most of Enjolras' trip is spent texting Grantaire, and half listening to the conversations of his friends. Courfeyrac took the time to point that out to Enjolras (multiple times, of course). Joly fussed over the risk of Enjolras running in to something and seriously injuring himself. While Combeferre did his very best to ignore Courfeyrac and appreciate the history.

Eventually, the end of their trip arrived and Courfeyrac finally got to take his trip to the gift shop.

"Aw yeah," Courfeyrac smiled and ran into the shop, "I am going to buy the coolest shit in here."

"Courf, please be careful in here." Combeferre frowned and followed his friend.

Enjolras distracted himself with his phone by a rack of postcards while Joly wandered off.

[**Grantaire**: Goddammit I'll text you in a few minutes. Some grown ass man is acting like a child in the middle of my damn shop.]

Enjolras started to text the man back, but was quickly distracted by an obscene crash from the other end of the gift shop. He decided it was probably best that he follow the noise and make sure it didn't have anything to do with one of his friends.

It did.

"Goddammit Courf, what the hell did you do?" Enjolras exclaimed as he came across what was possibly the biggest mess he'd ever seen.

The floor was wet with the blood of a plethora of broken snow globes. Shards of glass littered the floor, along with sad looking little Eiffel Towers and Arc de Triomphes and other miniature figures of famous French monuments. Combeferre stood nerd by, pinching the bridge of his nose while Joly muttered about not stepping on the broken glass.

"Enjolras?"

Enjolras turned to the man speaking on his left and his eyes widened, "Grantaire? What're you doing here?"

"Uh, I work here."

"You know this guy? Who is he?" Courfeyrac asked.

"The cello guy," Enjolras frowned and looked toward Courfeyrac.

"Oh right, hey man. Nice to meet you."

Grantaire frowned, crossing his arms, "Dude, don't 'hey man' me, pay for all this shit you just broke."

"Why don't we talk about it over drinks."

"I'm down for drinks," Grantaire chuckled, "But seriously, you have to pay for all the snow globes, man."

"Ugh, fine. Yeah. I'll just. Go do that. Combeferre, go to the front counter with me?"

Combeferre sighed, "Fine. Then we're leaving. Enjolras, you coming?"

Enjolras looked at Combeferre, then watched Grantaire retrieve a mop and begin cleaning up the snow globes before sighing.

"No, I'll stay behind."

"Alright. I'll see you later. C'mon Courf."

Joly and Courfeyrac followed behind Combeferre. Courfeyrac laughing despite the outrageous amount of money he was going to have to pay and Joly shaking his head at the utter disaster created by his friend.

"Damn," Grantaire sighed, "I get off my shift here in like, five minutes. Now I'll be here for another million years."

"I'll help. It's the least I can do since my friend made the mess." Enjolras offered.

"You don't have to do that."

"Well, I'm going to. Because I'm reasonable."

"Reasonable, right." Grantaire laughed and shook his head, going back to his cleaning.

Half an hour later, the two men finish cleaning up the snow globe massacre and Grantaire offers to take Enjolras home.

"You don't have to do that," Enjolras protested, "I can just get a cab."

"Well," Grantaire began with a smirk, "I'm going to. Because I'm reasonable."

* * *

"Thank you for driving me," Enjolras begins, rolling his eyes, "Even though I could have taken a cab and would have been fine."

"Well, it was a pleasure, _Apollo_."

Enjolras turned toward the musician beside him, "I told you to stop calling me those things."

Grantaire leaned closer, bringing his nose just inches away from Enjolras', "And I said no."

"Like I said," Enjolras chuckled, "You're impossible."

"You like it."

"Not entirely." Enjolras smirked.

"But a little." Grantaire smirked right back.

Somehow, they had managed to lean even closer into each other. Enjolras could feel Grantaire's forehead resting on his, and the warmth of his breath dancing just above his lips.

Grantaire began to lean into Enjolras' lips with his own, that is of course, until his phone started ringing in his pocket.

"Sorry," he laughed, "I've got to answer this."

Enjolras moved back into his original position in the passenger seat, and with cheeks scarlet, unbuckled his seatbelt while Grantaire finished up his exasperated call.

"It was my flatmate, Jehan. Sorry about that," Grantaire laughed nervously as he put his phone back in his pocket, "So, um."

"I'll just, text you later. Thanks again for the ride." Enjolras' lips twitched, but he didn't smile. He climbed uncomfortably out of Grantaire's car and turned toward his apartment.

"Hey, wait. Enjolras!" Grantaire shouted after the blonde through the open passenger side window.

"Yeah?" Enjolras turned around.

"Can I call you sometime?"

Enjolras clicked his tongue and considered the thought.

"Sure."

Grantaire grinned a cheshire sort of grin, "Well then, later Blondie."

Before Enjolras could irritatedly protest the name Blondie, Grantaire laughed and drove off, fading down the road.


	5. The Table by the Door

Grantaire was not so fond of the sunshine that burst through his open blinds that Saturday morning. His eyes fluttered open, then quickly shut when they met the sunlight. He groaned loudly and rolled over, entwining his legs beneath the white and green sheets of his bed.

The cellist stood from his bed, stretched, then stumbled into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, showered and did all that he could with his hair before giving up with thoughts of a certain blonde angel on his mind. Then, reluctantly he inched back down the hall and to his room. His eyes landed first upon his cello. Then he looked to the stacks of music books and sheet music nearby.

His cello, who he named Zelter, stood tall and proud in the corner of the room. Grantaire came to his cello, with its worn edges and paint splatters and gave it a weary smile. Zelter was his cello. The cello he kept at home to practice with, and the cello he'd had for years. He had a cello at the studio that he played during recitals. Grantaire was not so much a fan of his recital cello. He told Jehan it was "hollow and soulless".

Grantaire picked up the bow, sat in the lone chair by Zelter, and he took the cello in his arms and began to play. He closed his eyes and his mind focused on his music, then drifted to Apollo. Apollo helping him clean up broken snow globes. Apollo's lips almost on his. Apollo sitting in a cafe at one am with him. Apollo at his show. His show. Recital.

The music stopped and Grantaire's eyes snapped open. He put the bow down, set Zelter aside and stood up abruptly. With a gruff sigh, he moved to the other side of his room and sat in front of his easel. The beginnings of a golden haired God rested upon the canvas in front of him. He smiled half heartedly before gathering his supplies and continuing his painting.

"Grantaire," Jehan burst into the room singing his flatmate's name with two cups of coffee in hand, "Grantaire, why oh why did you stop playing? I love the sound of cello in the morning!"

"I, uh, just wasn't feeling it, I guess." Grantaire shrugged as Jehan handed him a ceramic mug filled with his favourite coffee.

Jehan made a pouty face and flopped down on Grantaire's bed. He sipped his coffee and stared at the cellist with an expectant look.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"Staring? Who's staring?"

Grantaire sighed and turned back to his painting.

"So, how come you got home so late yesterday?"

"I had to stay longer to clean up some broken snow globes."

"And?"

"And what, Jehan," Grantaire turned around again, "I was staying back to clean up some snow globes and then I drove a friend home."

Jehan's eyes lit up, "Oh, a friend? What kind of friend? Was it the pretty guy you invited to your recital?"

"Yes, Jehan." Grantaire rolled his eyes and put his brushes away, deciding that he probably wasn't going to get much painting done with Jehan on his case.

"You have to tell me more about him, R."

"I don't have to, actually." Grantaire smiled and flopped down next to Jehan.

"I will never, ever make you morning coffee again unless you tell me about the boy you have spent so much time with."

"Whatever," Grantaire laughed, "His name is Enjolras, by the way. And there's not much to say. He was at the museum and he helped me clean up some snow globes his friend broke so I returned the favor and drove him home."

"You like him." Jehan stated.

"Jehan, no I don't."

"You do. And that's why you were out until a million o'clock the night of your last recital, and why you drove him home!"

"No I don't, Jehan."

Jehan squinted his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his friend, "I don't believe you!"

Before Grantaire could protest, his phone rang from the bedside table.

"Is that him?" Jehan grinned as he watched Grantaire lean back and pick up his phone.

[**Enjolras**: Please come to my home and save me from Courfeyrac.]

[**Grantaire**: Is that the one who knocked over all the snow globes?]

"What's he saying," Jehan gripped his coffee cup eagerly, "Is he flirting with you?"

[**Enjolras**: Yes. All of our friends were busy and he insisted on coming over. I have a headache and I can't deal with this he talks so much. He's my best friend but I need to study.]

Grantaire laughed.

[**Grantaire**: I'll drive to your place and bring my housemate, Jehan. He can distract anyone.]

[**Enjolras**: Thank you.]

"Get dressed, Jehan," Grantaire grinned and stood up from his bed, "We're going to Enjolras' place and you have a playdate."

* * *

The drive to Enjolras' apartment consisted mostly of Jean's rambling to Grantaire.

"Are we going to the pretty guy's house? Who do I have a 'playdate with'? Is he cute? Grantaire? Grantaire!"

"For fuck's sake, Jehan," Grantaire sighed and gripped the steering wheel, "Yes we're going to Enjolras' house. You're going to distract his friend, Courfeyrac, because Enj needs to study and Courfeyrac isn't exactly good study company."

"You called him Enj."

"So?"

"R, you gave him a nickname."

"Just drop it, Jehan."

Jehan threw Grantaire a pouty look before turning his head to the passenger side window. The rest of the ride was thankfully silent.

Grantaire pulled up to the building he'd been to the night before. When he and Jehan got out of the car Grantaire folded his arms and sighed, looking up at the apartments.

Jehan frowned, "What is it?"

"I, uh, don't actually know which apartment Enjolras lives in."

"Then text him, dummy."

[**Grantaire**: I'm outside your building but I do not know which apartment is yours. I don't want to walk in on an unsuspecting old woman or something.]

[**Enjolras**: Second floor, apartment number 8. Courf's getting the door.]

Like Enjolras had said, Courfeyrac swung apartment number eight's door open with a grin, "Hey- oh. Who's your friend, man?"

"This is my flatmate-"

"Jehan, my name is Jehan."

"Well, Grantaire, Jehan, why don't you two come in?"

Grantaire nodded and walked in, Jehan coming in after and lingering by Courfeyrac. Enjolras sat on the leather couch with a text book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The cellist grinned and flopped down next to him.

"I'm here to save the day."

"Thanks." Enjolras stated simply, while continuing to read and reread highlighted passages in his book.

Grantaire could hear Jehan and Courfeyrac talking animatedly by the front door before they both came in and sat on the loveseat opposite of him and Enjolras. Courfeyrac whispered things to Jehan that made him laugh while Enjolras studied.

Eventually the room fell completely silent save for the flipping of book pages. Grantaire vaguely wondered why Enjolras didn't have a television.

"Well," Jehan stood up, clapping his hands together, "This has been swell. But uh, Courf why don't you and I go somewhere else?"

Courfeyrac stood up as well, "I think that's a fantastic idea! The silence in here was starting to frighten me."

Grantaire watched the two of them walk out of the apartment practically holding hands, then sighed.

"Enjolras, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?" Enjolras looked up from his book.

"Why don't you have a t.v?"

"It's too distracting. I have a laptop, though."

"That's not the same." Grantaire sighed and leaned on Enjolras.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm bored."

Now it was Enjolras who sighed this time, shutting his book and standing up.

"Are you hungry," Enjolras asked, "We could order take out."

Grantaire smiled, "You know what goes great with take out? A movie. On a television."

"You're impossible." Enjolras rolled his eyes.

"Only a little. But yes, take out would be nifty."

In an hour's time, Chinese take out boxes littered the coffee table and Grantaire found himself sprawled out on Enjolras' couch, with Enjolras sitting on the floor in front of him.

"This couch is the most comfortable thing I've ever placed my ass upon."

"More than your ass is laying on my couch, actually."

"Well, still. It's comfortable."

"I know, and I'd like to enjoy it except there's a giant oaf laying all over it."

"There is plenty of room for your tiny ass to be on this piece of furniture, Enjolras."

Enjolras stood up, then reluctantly sat on Grantaire's legs.

"See? Plenty of room."

"I'm on your legs, not my couch."

Grantaire rolled his eyes before taking the sleeve of Enjolras' sweater in hand and pulling the blonde on top of him.

"And now you're on me. Hello."

Enjolras stared down at Grantaire, and Grantaire stared back up. They sat that way for a while before either of them said anything.

"I'm going to get off of you now." Enjolras said.

"No you're not," Grantaire smirked and pulled Enjolras closer to him, "You're going to stay right here."

"Grantaire-"

And though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what was about to transpire, Enjolras was still very caught off guard when Grantaire's lips connected with his own.

Enjolras pulled back, "That was-"

"Fantastic?" Grantaire suggested.

"Yeah."

"Then lets keep doing it."

This time, Enjolras leaned forward quickly, placing a hand on Grantaire's neck and kissing him vigorously. Grantaire smirked and ran his tongue across Enjolras' bottom lip, causing Enjolras' breath to hitch in his throat.

Finding that he liked this sound very much, Grantaire decided he wanted to hear it again. He took Enjolras' lower lip between his teeth and pulled gently, inciting a moan from the man above him.

Enjolras smirked and found his hands moving to the hem of Grantaire's shirt, tugging it upwards needily. Grantaire quickly moved to grab Enjolras' wrist, sliding his hand down to entwine their fingers.

"Grantaire," Enjolras breathed, followed by a soft laugh. He pulled back with a grin, making note of Grantaire's kiss-bruised lips and moving to his neck. There he placed open mouthed kisses on the cellist's unshaven skin.

Grantaire let out a rich laugh and squeezed Enjolras' hand, making the blond move back up to his lips again, and rolled his hips against Grantaire's. Removing his hand from Enjolras', Grantaire gripped the ends of Enjolras' shirt and pulled it off of him in a swift motion.

His eyes locked on to Enjolras' chest while his hands moved gently across the marble skin before him. Grantaire leaned up forward and brought his lips to Enjolras' neck, while Enjolras began to lift the other man's shirt away as well.

Enjolras and Grantaire couldn't be bothered with anything in their present moment. Not with the erratically changing weather outside, not with the half empty take out boxes lying about the coffee table and certainly not by Courfeyrac and Jehan stumbling and giggling into the apartment.

Courfeyrac and Jehan's laughter stopped abruptly when they realised what they walked in on.

"What." Courfeyrac stared wide-eyed at his friends, who began to scramble off of eachother.

"I thought Enjolras was suppose to be studying." Jehan giggled.

Courfeyrac laughed, "He is, Jehan. He's studying Grantaire!"

Enjolras' cheeks burned as he threw his shirt back on, standing up and folding his arms. Grantaire puffed his cheeks out and sighed as he sat up, running a hand through his hair.

"You guys are back already?" Grantaire frowned a little.

"We went to this pub just down the road," Courfeyrac grinned, "And we had a lot of fun." He looked joyfully at Jehan as he said this.

"You should have knocked, Courfeyrac. You don't live here." Enjolras dropped his arms to his side and made to pick up the take out boxes.

Grantaire picked up a few boxes and followed Enjolras into the kitchen, "So, I should probably drive Jehan home. He's a little, er, drunk."

"Yeah," Enjolras ran a hand through his hair after tossing the boxes out, "Courfeyrac will probably just..sleep here I guess."

"So, I'll see you later then, I guess."

"Yeah." Enjolras smiled a little.

Grantaire laughed and came forward to kiss Enjolras' cheek. It was soft and chaste and very different from the events of earlier.

They walked back out to the living room where Grantaire grabbed Jehan by the arm and pulled him down out the door, down the stairs and into Grantaire's car.

Once they'd driven down the road a bit, Jehan exclaimed, "I am in love!"

Grantaire laughed, "You've just met him."

"I don't care, R. I'm in love! I'm in love, love l-o-v-e!" Jehan clapped his hands together and giggled. He told Grantaire about Courfeyrac in excruciating detail, while Grantaire's mind lingered off to the events that transpired on Enjolras' couch.

Once they reached their home, Jehan danced into the kitchen singing about Courfeyrac and Grantaire threw his keys on the table by the door. He smiled and dragged his feet to his bedroom, where his cello sat in the corner.

Grantaire stared at his cello a long while. Then he stared at the new sheet music he hadn't learned yet. After that his eyes darted to the nearby calendar that marked the day of his next recital in red marker. Four days. He had four days left.

Closing his eyes, he imagined Enjolras sitting there, in his room on the edge of his bed. He imagined himself playing his cello and Enjolras listening with rapt attention. Then he imagined himself painting, and Enjolras watching intently while he sipped warm coffee on Grantaire's bed.

But Enjolras is not there in his room. Grantaire realised this as his eyes shot open again. Enjolras is not there, but his sheet music is. His cello is there. The things he needs to practice and learn and master in just four days are there, staring at him. He stared at his cello again, and he felt as though it stared back. It stared back and scolded him for not practicing. It scolded him for placing his attention on Enjolras instead of his music.

Grantaire bolted from the room and picked his keys up from the table by the door.

"Where are you going," Jehan asked as he stepped out of the kitchen, "I was going to make celebratory sleepy tea for us."

"Just out to the convenience store." Grantaire mumbled before exiting the apartment.

Grantaire's eyes scanned the multiple isles of liquor nervously upon his arrival to the convenience store. He grabbed three bottles and set them on the counter along with his money. After paying for his things, he returned to his car and drove home.

He opened the front door slowly, looking around cautiously for his flatmate. It appeared that Jehan was in his room, so Grantaire made quick work to lock himself in his bedroom.

Once there, he opened the first bottle and brought it to his lips. The alcohol burned down his throat, but he didn't care. He felt some of the stress fading from his mind, and he drank more. When he finally pulled the bottle away from him, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and staggered to his cello.

He picked up the bow, cradled the instrument and began to practice. Grantaire played. Then drank. Then played, and then drank again. He drank until the bottles ran dry, and his fingers felt numb, and he felt like doing nothing more but sleeping.

Instead, he continued to play.

**AN: sorry not sorry for the pain. at least they kissed. -xoxoxEmm**


End file.
